


Eso Beso (That Kiss)

by EntreNous



Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Jealousy, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 18:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5637433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Zach gets that he's got no say in the matter.  He definitely doesn't have dibs or anything.</i>  Or, the first time and the last time Zach saw Chris kissing another man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eso Beso (That Kiss)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on my tumblr, asking for Pinto featuring the First Time/Last Time trope. I'm so glad I got a chance to write Pinto again. I hope you enjoy it!

The first time Zach sees Chris kissing another guy, he makes a soft disbelieving sound. Sharp pain pierces his chest, and his eyes blur. 

No one hears him or notices anything odd, of course -- not in the big loft living room crowded and buzzing with conversation.

But across the room, sprawled on Zach's favorite couch, Chris curls his lips into a lazy half smile. His eyes have already gone heavy-lidded. Everything about him is enticing, pliable, and gorgeous, and it makes Zach's fingers flex, clutching at nothing. 

The man who just kissed him -- Jonah, that playwright that Zach had been telling Chris he should definitely talk to tonight, because both of them won't shut up about the same books lately -- smiles back, brushes a thumb over Chris's temple, and leans in again.

Somehow the haze clouding Zach's vision turns the scene into soft-focus. He watches without blinking as their lips move slowly together and Jonah's fingers thread through Chris's hair. 

"You okay?" Miles asks a few moments later. He's touching Zach's shoulder, a ghost of affection in his fingertips. But his eyes are already focusing elsewhere, on a group of laughing guests at this spur of the moment party Zach definitely regrets throwing. 

Zach tries to nod but it's a stiff, weird gesture. He feels stalled in slow-motion -- it's an effort to grab his drink from the bookshelf next to him, where it's already pooled a water ring, and gulp the rest of it down. 

If he was smart, he'd pull Miles toward him to fill his field of vision, until they're both absorbed only in each other. Maybe then everyone else would drift out gradually, and it would just be the two of them alone, the way it had been practically all the time when Zach had first bought their place.

Instead his eyes snap back to Chris, to his hand stroking Jonah's arm. 

"Zach?" Miles asks curiously. 

He feels his jaw tighten before he mutters, "Any idea what the hell is going on over there?"

Miles blinks in surprise and follows the jerk of Zach's head to where Chris and Jonah are sitting. 

Back on the couch, Jonah's just pulled away again, but he hasn't moved far, clearly hasn't remembered there are throngs of people around them who can see. As soon as he tilts his head in, it's instantly cozy and intimate, like it's just that easy to carve out a private space for him and Chris from the middle of Zach's living room. 

The whole fucking thing makes Zach want to squeeze his empty highball glass until it breaks into shards. That way he could focus on the mess and the pain, not have to hone in on the way Chris's cheeks flush or how he ducks his head and smiles.

Jonah catches Chris's hand, and suddenly they're kissing again, with more intensity this time. 

"Aww," Miles says after a second, like he's seeing two characters on a show he's mildly interested in finally get together. 

"Since when does Chris hook up with men?" Zach demands.

Miles laughs indulgently, like Zach's made a bad joke that he's happy to help cover for, even though none of the people currently gathered in their apartment are paying them any attention. "Maybe it's the first time," he suggests with a grin. 

"Do you think so?" Zach asks. It doesn't even occur to him until the words are out that he ought to try and match Miles's mischievous tone; his reply's far too quick and strained.

"Well, you'd know more than anyone, right?" Miles asks. But instead of reassuring, he sounds doubtful. 

One of Miles's impossibly hot model friends peers out of their kitchen and gestures impatiently, that universal sign from a demanding guest to a host: _You're out of something important, so come fix it_.

As though they're not right in the middle of something, Miles smiles easily and starts to move off in the direction he's been summoned. "I'm sure it's fine," he says over his shoulder before he's left Zach alone.

Zach tenses, can feel his weight shift to the balls of his feet, like his body knows before he does that he needs to move. 

Maybe he'll follow after Miles and help with whatever minor out-of-gin or no-more-ice crisis has sprung up. Or maybe he'll stalk across the room where Chris is sitting. 

Before he can take a step, though, a few of his theater friends accost him. They're all excited about the play Zach will appear in come spring and full of gossip about their current productions. 

By the time Zach can extricate himself from the conversation and scan the room again, Chris and Jonah are gone. Belatedly, he looks over to Miles, who catches his eye for only a second before he returns his gaze to someone Zach doesn't recognize.

***~*~*~***

Chris texts Zach the next day, the following day, the following week. Zach sends back the briefest possible replies when he absolutely has to, and other times, doesn't answer at all.

By the time two weeks have passed, Miles stops asking him what's wrong and ends up spending more time than usual out of Zach's hair. Zach notices, of course he notices, but he's too busy stewing about what happened practically yesterday in his own fucking living room to worry about how distant Miles is acting. 

The days keep adding up. He drinks too much coffee during the day, throws back too much vodka at night, and walks the dogs all over for hours. Late one morning Noah actually flops onto his side on a busy street corner and clearly communicates he's had it with Zach and his surly long-walking ways.

It's ridiculous, is what it is. Chris can do whatever he wants. He can definitely fuck whoever he wants. Even if that means he's suddenly down with fooling around with guys. Zach gets that he's got no say in the matter. He definitely doesn't have dibs or anything.

Still. Zach's waiting for something in Chris's messages, something else besides, _Want to hit up some bars before I leave NYC?_ , or _Back in LA -- guess you're pretty busy, but give me a call, man_ , or _When are you in town next so we can hang out? Tell Miles hi, okay?_

Zach definitely doesn't tell Miles hi, especially since after three and a half weeks of Zach's sullenness, Miles decides to go visit a friend in London. He keeps extending his visit too, texting or emailing vague comments about his changing plans instead of calling or facetiming like he normally would. 

So Zach ignores the empty half of the bed, does his level best to focus on the stack of scripts he needs to read, and forces himself to keep up with producing stuff. 

But he can't help the flare of anger that stops him in his tracks every time he sees Chris's name on his phone. And he sure as hell can't stop the indignant rush zinging along his nerves every time he reads that there's nothing like an apology contained in Chris's words.

 _Are we cool?_ Chris texts him over a month later. 

_Everything's fine_ , Zach texts back after waiting a day. He tells himself he's actually answering Chris's question. 

The big joke is, though, that everything is so not fine. Miles and Zach have had three conversations now about where they're headed with this relationship. Sure, Miles is back in town, but he's staying elsewhere. Zach thinks it's someplace in Brooklyn, because they've had two of their earnest talks in Boerum Hill, but he never asks outright. 

He's scrolling listlessly through some links his publicist sent him when he sees a photo of Chris and some aspiring actress laughing together at a bar in Echo Park. It could be anything -- just a photo op one or both of their people have arranged, a meeting between friends, something more. But whatever it is, it puts Chris back into some recognizable box in Zach's head, and he exhales slowly before he closes the tab.

Three days later, when he's just gotten off the phone with someone from development at HBO, Zach randomly taps out, _I'm in town next week -- drinks?_ He hits send before he can overthink it. 

_Yeah, man, just let me know when and I'm there_ , returns almost immediately.

Zach doesn't quite smile at his phone, but his face and shoulders unfurl and relax.

***~*~*~***

Zach isn't totally sure if he's ready to head over to Chris's place to see him, or okay with going for runs with only the two of them just yet.

So while he's in L.A. for meetings, they hang out in bars, and find each other at a couple of parties. They even spend a whole afternoon at some used bookstore Chris is probably keeping in business personally. They stand almost shoulder to shoulder in the narrow aisles lined with bookcases, paging through old novels with brittle pages. Every time Zach looks over at Chris, totally absorbed at whatever volume he's got in his hands, those blue eyes intent, he can't help but grin. 

The day before Zach's due to head back, he casually mentions the actress Chris was spotted with. 

Chris looks blank for a few seconds. Then he tells Zach she's dating a mutual friend of theirs and wanted to talk to Chris about starting some fashion-related business. "Dresses? T-shirts?" Chris guesses, so clearly puzzled at how that kind of thing works and not at all the right person to ask. It makes Zach feel unaccountably cheerful. 

"How's Jonah?" has been on the tip of Zach's tongue to ask a bunch of times during his stay in L.A. But he doesn't want to swing back to that brooding angry version of himself that no one can stand, and he might if Chris knows exactly who Zach is talking about right away. 

"Since when do you get off with guys?" is another lead-in that Zach has to pull back and pack away on several occasions. In the back of his head, he absolutely gets that it's not the way a good friend would ask about what happened. Besides, every time he doesn't ask it, it gets easier to brush off exactly how much he's got riding on the answer.

***~*~*~***

Once Zach returns to the city, three more months pass without seeing Chris. But this time there's lots of back and forth with them: texting every day; calls every few days. And Zach's sleeping much better now, finds it way easier to focus on everything that needs doing in his life.

Miles moved out most of his stuff while Zach was in L.A. For the most part, Zach fills in the gaps easily. He buys pieces of furniture that are more his style anyway. He picks up a few new posters, buys a series of large-scale prints by an up-and-coming photographer to cover where some of Miles's artwork used to hang. It's not so tough, it seems, to smooth over the fissures. 

Occasionally he'll come across a ripped-out notepad page with a vivid little sketch scrawled on it, or uncover a tossed-aside Polaroid of Miles looking angular and captivating, and he'll feel a dull pang. 

But when Zach gets the chance to meet with a young British director in L.A., he texts Chris about getting together before he even books the flight. 

_You should stay here with me when you're in town_ , Chris messages him back a few minutes later.

 _Definitely_ , Zach replies as soon as he reads the words.

***~*~*~***

They stay in the first night. Chris laughs easily at Zach's jokes over complicated Asian fusion take-out, refilling their wineglasses with a sloppy hand because he's too busy smiling to pay attention. Zach doesn't grouse at him for spilling un-oaked chardonnay all over his new sweater; he just waves off Chris's dry-cleaning offer with a magnanimous flip of his hand.

Some of the details about what went down with Miles come up as the night goes on, and Zach stitches the story together through the threads of things Chris already knows. Chris gets quiet after he offers his sympathies, and they call it a night soon after. 

The next night, after Zach's returned from an overlong dinner meeting, Chris has a couple of parties lined up for them to stop by. "So you don't go nuts staying inside with just me," he tells Zach genially.

The first party is mostly dead by the time they get there, but they linger for a while anyway. They crowd onto a small couch together, ignoring everyone else in favor of snarking at each other in teasing voices and forgetting to refill their drinks. 

At the second party, they get separated soon after they grab their first round. Zach wanders outside to the fire pit and gets sucked into a conversation about which clubs have blown up since he last lived in town. 

A few guys start talking about hitting up one of the new places, so Zach ambles back indoors to see if Chris wants to come along. It's strange to realize, as he searches the groups clustered in corners or gathered on couches, that he doesn't really care if they actually go. Yeah, he usually likes to know what the best places are, and it would be good to catch up with the L.A. scene. But he's sort of been picturing heading back to Chris's place, streaming some movie they've both seen a million times so they can talk over it, until Chris's voice gets thicker and sweeter and slower the sleepier he gets. 

At first he doesn't stress out when he can't get a bead on where Chris is. The place has gotten crowded, young actresses and older producers all smiling widely. The largest room is almost at maximum capacity, the limit of bodies parties like this hit before people start to slip away. 

But then Zach turns down a narrow hallway. And there's Chris leaning against the wall, head tilted back, letting out a beguiling, soft sigh as some dark-haired guy mouths down his neck. 

When the guy slides in closer -- sinuous in the press of his body, determined with one hand braced on the wall -- and kisses Chris so fervently that Chris makes a muffled sound of surprise, Zach calls out sharply, "Hey!"

Chris turns his head to the sound, not even moving out of position, looking dazed. "Oh. Hey." But a second later he focuses on Zach, hones in sharply like they're alone -- no one else crowding Chris, no one even near their orbit. "You all right?"

Zach's eyes dart to the other guy. The handsome face pings some semi-recognizable name in his brain, but he doesn't actually give a shit who this asshole is. When the guy clears his throat, an obvious suggestion Zach should move along, Zach glares. 

The guy exhales noisily. Finally he looks away.

"We need to talk," Zach says, shifting his attention back to Chris.

"Listen, I'll catch up with you after," the guy mutters. 

Chris watches as the man leaves, appearing bewildered by this turn of events. But when they're alone and he looks back at Zach, his face shows only confusion and concern. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"

"When did this happen?" Zach asks sharply.

Chris's tongue flickers out to wet his lower lip. It's like the flash of a magnet, a small but significant increase in pull, drawing Zach in to loom closer. 

"When did what -- " Chris begins, plainly still not on the same page.

"You and guys!" Zach's trying not to explode; he knows he doesn't have the right. But his fingers twitch, wanting to curl around something, like maybe Chris's slim hips. "Back at my apartment, at that party! Just now, here, with whoever the fuck that was!"

"Dude, what the fuck? Why are you so upset?" 

"You never said anything to me!"

"What the hell should I have said?" Though he sounds indignant, Chris looks more puzzled than anything else. When he frowns and touches his mouth absently, Zach surges forward.

As Zach crowds him back against the wall and mashes their mouths together, Chris freezes. His hands grab Zach's shoulders, clamping tight. At first it seems like he's going to push him away. 

But seconds later, Chris gasps into Zach's mouth, kisses him back, opens for him beautifully.

"Wait, hang on," Chris tries to get out after a few minutes have gone by. It's pretty ineffectual, because he's the one who keeps diving back in to the kiss, clutching Zach's upper arms, pushing against Zach with breathy sounds. 

"I am so confused right now," he manages finally sometime later, blue eyes wide as they search Zach's face. "I'm not sure how we got from --" and Chris actually touches his knuckles to Zach's, like the gentlest of fist-bumps -- "to _this_."

"Well, I want to know how we didn't get to this sooner," Zach shoots back. For a mere second he feels a swell of anger again, the sheer incredulity; not about Chris and men, really, but about Chris and any other man that's not Zach. But that burst of wrath diffuses in an instant; why would he hold on to it, when he has Chris here right now in his arms? 

"But you were with Miles," Chris says. He runs his fingers through his hair. "And before that, you were with --"

"It never occurred to you that you should have clued me in, no matter who I was with, to tell me I might actually have a chance with you?" Zach demands. Despite his abrasive tone, he's careful as he cups Chris's jaw in his hands and kisses him thoroughly. 

"Oh my god," Chris says faintly when they pull back to pant. 

Zach waits, watching him, tracking the flush across his cheeks, smoothing Chris's ruffled hair off his forehead. "Do you want me to," he starts, beginning to draw away.

"No!" Chris shakes his head emphatically and catches Zach around the waist to keep him from going anywhere. He peers at Zach for a second. "That's what you were so mad about, a couple of months ago?"

"Um," Zach stalls. There's a way to answer that won't leave him looking ridiculous, he's pretty sure, but he can't seem to hit on it at the moment. 

"You were such a prick," Chris says. He starts to frown like he's mustering a stern face, but it doesn't quite take. "You blew me off like thousands of times!"

"I didn't know -- I didn't have any right," Zach says lamely. "And it wasn't thousands of times, my god," he adds after a pause. "You're so dramatic." 

"Is this," Chris squeezes his shoulder, "why things got weird with Miles?" 

"No," Zach answers at once. "That was fading anyway; we just hadn't figured it out yet."

"You could have said something to me," Chris offers. He's clearly trying for solemn but looking like he wants to smile widely. "Maybe hinted that I had a shot with _you_."

Zach huffs and brushes their lips together again, letting his eyes drift shut. There's a ton to talk about, but not now. Not with Chris right here, his for the taking.

"If I'd have known -- that all it would take -- was you seeing me kissing another guy," Chris teases, sliding a kiss to the corner of Zach's mouth, to his cheek, to the underside of his jaw. 

"Yeah, let's call a moratorium on you doing that right now," Zach tells him firmly. 

When he kisses Chris again, it's to hide the stupid grin on his face, to keep from saying too soon that he wants to be the last guy that Chris ever kisses. But if the muffled delighted laugh from Chris is any indication, he might just have an inkling already.

***~*~* the end *~*~***


End file.
